You Pyg!
by jeevesandwooster
Summary: or How I learned to stop worrying and love the Shaw. A peek into the doctor's past, some classic lit, a crazy teacher, and infinite blackmailprank material. K for language with a little HouseOC, finishes HouseCam
1. Pranks

1Hey, Happy April Fool's Day everyone! Because I know this day is going to be torture for me (as my brother loves pulling pranks: so far he's already rearranged my books on my bookshelves so I couldn't find them...) I thought I'd alleviate some holiday stress by writing the first chapter of a story idea we've had for a long time, which coincidentally has a pranking theme. Sorta. Huzzah and look out for whoopee cushions. Oh. Also: please be aware. This doesn't fall in any specific time period in the series. I just used the characters. Wilson has however, divorced his wife and gotten a girlfriend at this point in our story.

Disclaimer: Unnecessary. Last night, David Shore knocked at Jeeves' door and told her that the pressure of coming up with new ideas for episodes was too great and sold us the rights, the actors' contracts, and all that jazz for the television show "House M.D." And, you must have seen this coming: APRIL FOOLS!

Chapter one: Blackmail/pranking material for LIFE

James Wilson had packed up and moved out...again. He was back in his old bachelor's apartment, simultaneously grateful and depressed that he hadn't sold it yet. He sighed; he hadn't even done anything particularly _wrong_ this time. He'd just made an error in judgement. He'd ceded to her request against his better judgement. He'd broken rule number one of a successful relationship.

He'd invited House to dinner.

It'd been an unmitigated disaster. House had been...well...House, and Susan had migrated from amused, to tolerant, to appalled, to furious within ten minutes. Before anybody had even touched their meal she was screaming, House was calmly tossing around insults ,and Jimmy was meditating swiping House's Vicodin to deal with his pounding headache.

Susan had actually skipped the usual "_Why_ are you friends with him?" and moved straight to the "him or me" phase. He'd chosen House, just like he always did.

He was beginning to think he was a masochist.

"Oh well," sighed Wilson as he began to unpack a bunch of VHS tapes from a box. "At least I didn't marry her this time." Resigned to his fate, he casually scanned the titles of each tape as he put it on a shelf. Blackadder season 1, A New Hope, Empire Strikes Back, Return of the Jedi, DHS Musical '77, Flight of the Phoenix, wait...what?

Wilson looked again at the tape labeled DHS Musical '77. What could this be? He couldn't remember owning it, or even watching it. Besides, he'd gone to Carbondale High in Illinois and this said DHS not CHS. Couldn't be Susan's either. While he wasn't sure which high school she'd gone to, she'd graduated in '81. She wasn't even in high school in '77. Besides, she wasn't 'into theatre', or so she'd told him. Whose could it be?

Curious now, and bored with unpacking anyway, Wilson popped it into the VCR. As the tape rewound, he continued to ponder. House's high school was called Dellwood, but it couldn't be his...why would he keep a tape of his high school musical?

"Maybe it's old blackmail material of his," he thought as the tape finished rewinding and he pressed play. Taking up the beer he'd been drinking, he plopped down on his sofa as a soaring overture emanated from his television. Finally, the curtains drew apart to reveal a multitude of costumed teenagers on a set which looked like the exterior of an opera house. A particularly dirty girl ran into a snappily dressed young man and exclaimed in a thick cockney accent, "Aiow! Look wheyah yo' goain, Freddy deah, look wheyah yo' goain!"

"My Fair Lady," Wilson identified as he sipped on his beer, having been forced to see it on Broadway with one of his prior wives. He watched as the girl complained loudly about her ruined flowers, which had been knocked in the mud by the careless 'Freddy'. The acting wasn't bad, and that girl kind of looked like Cameron, slight with brown hair. The date was about fifteen years off for her though. He was about to turn the tape off when a boy dressed in a tweed suit stepped forward to deliver his lines. He looked familiar...

Wilson dropped his beer. Ignoring the liquid spreading across his carpet from the discarded can, he rushed forward to get a closer look. A boy of about eighteen with short brown hair and blue eyes was yelling at the girl to "cease that detestable boo-hooing." Despite the put-on British accent, there was no mistaking that condescending yell.

"Oh. My. God."

It was old pranking material all right, but it was his, not House's.


	2. Counselors

**Disclaimer: House as a forty-five year old doctor with stunning blue eyes, a very phallic cane, and a cynical outlook on life: not ours. Neither is the show which he's from and all the characters, plots, and copyrights therein. House as a seventeen year old high school student with stunning blue eyes, a deficiency in fine arts credits, and an attitude a mile high: ours. The plotline that goes along with it is also ours. Ha.**

Chapter two: No matter what the decade, counselors never change.

"Damn it!"

Heads turned to find the source of the outcry. Mothers looked disapprovingly at the lanky teenager who stood to the side looking at a white piece of paper with a look of anger on his face.

"What's wrong, Greg?" said an older boy standing beside him looking cooly unconcerned.

"They screwed up my schedule, that's what's wrong!" Gregory House looked up from his senior year high school schedule into his brother's amused eyes, as blue as his own.

"They've got me down for some stupid drama class, Chris!"

"Take it easy. It's not a big deal," said his brother carelessly. "Take it into the counselor."

"The counselor?" Greg wasn't even aware his brother knew the word.

"Sure. What do you think they're there for? It sure as hell ain't for counseling." He checked his watch. "Hurry it up, though, your lacrosse practice starts at one." Their mom worked as an RN at the local hospital all day, so Chris, being the only one with a car, was the unofficial chauffeur for the House family.

"Alright," Greg said, and ran off.

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"I'm sorry, dear. Can you tell me what exactly you complaint is?"

Greg explained again, his tone suggesting that he thought the counselor a particularly obtuse sub-species of human kind. "I'm signed up for 'Drama'. I don't want to take a 'Drama' class!"

She tapped a few keys on the keyboard and made some annoying 'mmm' noises. "I'm sorry, hun, but you need a fine arts credit to graduate."

Greg sighed, must he deal with morons EVERYDAY? "I know that," he said as patiently as he could, his mom had threatened to cancel his candy striper application at the hospital if she got another angry letter from the school this year. "That's why I signed up for jazz band. I don't act."

The counselor tapped a few more useless keys and 'mmm'-ed and 'haw'-ed a little more, much to Greg's irritation. "Well son, I'm sorry, but the only hour that offers jazz band is also the only hour they offer anatomy. You have to pick one."

"Damn it!" he thought again.

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The clicking of Carrie Price's shoes echoed cheerily off the walls as she walked down the hall to her classroom. She had been teaching drama for six years and each new semester brought an exciting combination of old students and new faces that set her heart pumping. She opened the door to massive onslaught of bustle and activity and grinned at all the laughing faces around her. Price took great pride in her class, who she directed with an infectious enthusiasm and a combination of a strict professional code of conduct for outside of class and a family-like informality in class. This had earned her a place in her students' hearts and a hearty helping of respect to boot.

Ignoring the hubbub, she walked briskly to her cheerfully cluttered desk and plopped the stack of folders she'd been carrying on top of it. She then turned to face her class and, raising her voice only slightly, said, "Ok, everyone, take a seat and lets get the boring speeches out of the way." Grinning broadly, the teens who'd taken the class before slipped into their seats and looked up expectantly, obviously comfortable with this arrangement. The newer students, a little more nervously, (especially when they realized the older students had purposefully spread out among the large tables, forcing the them to take seats next to new faces,) followed suit. Price calmly waited for everyone to get settled. "Hello students, old and new, and welcome to Drama class. Don't be frightened, you'll get used to us soon enough. I'm Carrie Price, that's 'Ms. Price' or simply 'Price' to you. When you've graduated you may call me Carrie though and I hope you will." She heard a thump near the back of the classroom and paused for a second, but when the sound didn't repeat, she continued. "For those of you who signed up for this class thinking it was going to be an easy 'A' you still have two weeks to drop. You will work hard in this class. Most of your points come from participation and, trust me, I'll know if you don't." The thump came again, from the left side of the room. Price watched the area out of the corner of her eye as she took up her introduction again. "The bare minimum required to pass this class is the performance of at least one monologue in front of your classmates, who will provide comment and criticism, and an active role, be it on stage or behind the scenes, in one of the school's theatrical productions." Ah, there it is. She moved began to casually stroll as she talked. "As for classroom policies, there are very few rules. One, if you check out a book from the back, write your name on the check out form and make sure you return it in the same condition you found it...preferably before the year ends." A few kids gave her sheepish grins. She smiled back. She was close now. "I also advise against dating the people you act with. If the romance falls apart, I will NOT find you a new partner." Just a few more steps. "Food or drink is fine as long as I don't find wrappers or crumbs on my floor and..." she snatched the tennis ball out of the air as it bounced off the wall, "all toys played with on my time become mine." She grinned down at the shocked boy with curly brown hair and sunglasses who was leaning back in his chair. "Hello, what's your name?" she asked genially.

The boy's shock transitioned quickly to bored disdain. 'Ah,' she thought, 'one of those.'

"Greg House."

"Nice ball, Gregory," she said and deftly plucked off his sunglasses and perched them on her head, "Stylish shades as well. You have good taste." His eyes, a stunning bright blue, glinted angrily, she smiled. "If I confiscate any of your possessions," she continued to the class at large, moving away from the boy and bouncing the ball as she went, "you may collect them at the end of the day, but be warned," she spun around as she reached the front of the classroom again, "I will play with them." The class laughed, Greg House looked mutinous. She grinned, this was going to be an interesting year. She bounced the ball a few times, then tipped the sunglasses down onto her nose. "All right, look alive, we're going to do a few vocal warm-ups..."

**A/N: Ha! Caught you off guard didn't we? Don't worry, we'll get back to Wilson's pranking revenge at the end. This story has been on the tip of our minds for almost a year now. It's exciting to finally launch it. I especially enjoy the fact that I get to pay tribute to my (Wooster) favorite teacher of all time, who our 'Ms. Price' is based on. I will also be making an appearance in the story later, (my revenge on Jeeves for placing herself as House's first kiss in our story 'Candy is Dandy but...') so look out for that! This is our first truly AU story, so I can't wait for the feedback. Oh, and one other thing: in case nobody understands the title of this story, please, go acquaint yourself with the brilliance of Shaw. Try typing 'My Fair Lady' into Wikipedia. That should answer all your questions so...toodlepip and happy reviewing!**


	3. Cackling

**Disclaimer: House isn't ours. But considering that they stole the alternate motive kiss thing from "Playing Games" as well as other little fanfic tidbits we should have at least honorary ownership. To Kit (Christopher) Marlowe and William Shakespeare: our sincerest apologies. Excerpts from the medical text taken from "Anatomy Coloring Workbook" by I. Edward Alcamo, Ph.D. Hey, keep those chuckles to yourself, it's college lit published by The Princeton Review. It may sound cheesy but it works. **

Chapter 3: "And Margaret of Anjou Enters and Cackles"

Price was refilling her candy jar. As the DumDums ™ poured from the value-sized bag, she surveyed the room. Her TA, Annie Lowlin, was on the phone ordering some new play scripts for the class. Other students, some who had already performed for class, some who hadn't, were all busy, the latter practicing and the former offering advice. All except one. Snagging a strawberry DumDum from the now-full glass jar, she meandered over pretending to watch the boy practicing a selection from "Richard III" a few feet away from Gregory House. While listening to the poor boy fumble with the iambic pentameter, she watched her problem-student from the corner of her eye. Since that first day, he'd not brought any toys to class. Instead, he'd bought a series of books which he'd read every class period, studiously ignoring teacher and classmates alike. While he continued to not be disruptive, she couldn't punish him, (nor was she inclined to,) but if he did not participate soon, she was going to have to fail him. As she pondered the dilemma of failing a student who, according to other teachers, was a straight-A student, all hell broke loose.

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Greg was finding it hard to concentrate. His fingers gripped the edge of the medical book he'd snitched from his mom that morning so tightly the pages were wrinkling. This kid was going to be the death of him.

_Two arteries result from the division of the common iliac artery: the internal iliac artery (fig C1) and the external iliac artery (fig C2). The internal iliac artery is seen briefly in the plate…_

"Our bruised arms hung up for monuments," the kid stammered out. "Our stern alarms changed to merry meetings."

His teeth ground together. Wrong, wrong, WRONG! Couldn't the kid _hear_ his mistakes? Bruis-ed…not bruised. Alarums…not alarms. Greg pushed the mental image of Shakespeare twitching in his grave out of his head and returned to his book.

…_emerges the deep femoral artery (fig E2). This artery carries blood to the deep muscles of the thigh and some regions of the skin. Emerging from the deep…_

"He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber to the lask…laskivicious pleasing of a lute!"

'Jeez, kid, cut out that damned cheerful voice!' Greg thought, not looking up from the pages though directing his thought directly at the hapless boy. 'The guy's a conniving bastard plotting to kill off half his family to gain a throne. You sound like you're telling a children's story!'

…_it is clearer on the posterior view because it passes on the posterior surface. Emerging from this area the popliteal artery becomes the posterior or tibial artery (fig G4). This artery passes down…_

"I that am rudely stamped and want love's majesty," plowed on the kid, "to strut before a w-waan ton ambling nimph."

With the horrendous mispronunciation of the word nymph, Greg House could no longer take it."Ok, that's it!" he announced, slamming his book shut and shoving the kid out of the way before centering himself in front of the class.

"Cheated of feature by dissembling nature,/ Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time/Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,/ And that so lamely and unfashionable/That dogs bark at me as I halt by them—/Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace,/ Have no delight to pass away the time/Unless to see my shadow in the sun."

The room fell silent. Everyone stared at Greg House as the final words echoed away. Everyone's eyes were wide with shock. A few of the students looked around, unsure if they should applaud him or yell at him. Corey, whose monologue had been interrupted with embarrassing results, was staring at the ground, face bright red with embarrassment. Ignoring everyone, Greg simply sat down and continued reading. Price blinked and shook off her astonishment. Then, in a clear voice that broke the thick silence announced. "Greg, see me directly after class." He looked up, nodded once, returned to his reading and the room slowly returned to its normal bustle.

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The bell rang. The class, chatting happily, picked up their bags and left, some throwing disconcerted glances over their shoulders at Greg House, who hadn't moved since Price had told him to stay behind. As the last teen filed out, he carefully marked his place and set the book down, directing his focus to Price. He'd probably earned himself a detention today. His mom would be mad at him, but what did that matter? She'd be too busy to punish him properly. The worst she could do is send a note to his father, but he was stationed back in Phoenix still, and it would take a while for a reply to come. By that time she would have forgotten about it and wouldn't make him follow the punishment his dad had suggested and…

"That was amazing."

Greg blinked. What?

"What?" he asked, thrown off.

"That monologue. It was amazing." Price was looking at him with a combination of amusement, anger, and incredulity. "You have a real talent."

Greg couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was getting complimented, not punished. What was going on here? He didn't answer.

"It's a shame however, that you choose to reveal it by humiliating poor Corey." Her voice held a tint of exasperation. "Instead of performing your own monologue." She sat down next to him. "Listen, Greg. I know you don't want to fail, but you have not participated once all semester. Until today."

Casually, she sat on the edge of her desk, pulling a red grade book to her and thumbing to the appropriate page. Dramatically, as only a drama teacher can, she pulled out a ballpoint pen from the rubble on her desk and clicked it open.

"You've not shown me a script, or a character analysis for your impromptu monologue today, but I will score you for the performance of such. You haven't filled out a criticism sheet for any of your classmates performances either," she said, as she made a few marks in the book. She set the book down and looked directly into his eyes. "It doesn't look good, Greg."

Sighing, she pulled herself off the desk. From the outside, she looked remorseful, inside she was barely containing a mischievous smirk.

"I know you've come to expect certain things from your teachers, and admittedly your performance merits the fulfillment of such. Usually." She paused. "However, your performance in other classes does not equate to preferential treatment in mine. Or at least it shouldn't. I'm not going to lie, Mr. House, I like you. You're a smart ass but I have to admit you're pretty talented."

Greg blinked, this was his first encounter with a teacher who cursed in the presence of students. Unwillingly he felt his respect for her go up a notch or two.

"So I'm gonna cut you a deal. You've done your monologue. I want a paper on Richard and his motivations…by Monday…and you're going to audition for my musical. An acting role in the musical. "My Fair Lady" if you've missed the thirty or so announcements I've made in class due to your general apathy. Do it, and you'll keep your 4.0. You won't even have to apologize to poor Corey."

"Shit," he said finally, and after shaking her hand resolutely gave her an ironic salute and strutted out of the classroom. What could Dr. Faustus do but take the devil's deal?

She smirked, already looking forward to the audition. She couldn't wait to have him in her directorial clutches for two months…and considering who she was sure would get the female lead, she looked forward to their meeting.


	4. Choo

**Chapter Four: 'Choo lookin' at?**

**Disclaimer: House isn't ours (except in our sick midnight fantasies…) and neither are Shaw's _Pygmalion_/Lerner and Lowe's "My Fair Lady". **

Carrie Price found herself in an odd predicament. When she had insisted the oddly curmudgeonish Gregory House audition for the school musical she had assumed he'd show up, give a half-assed audition and land a minor roll. Try or not, he had talent in spades and you can't hide or deny that.

But he had tried. More, he had excelled. He didn't want a part; that much was clear. But what was also clear was that he'd be damned if he'd act dumber than he was.

_That's how he'd look at it too_, she mused, picking through the flotsam in her drawer as she searched for a pushpin. _Anyone who couldn't read between the lines of the script and find that subtle meaning that was the key to evoking emotion was an idiot_. The thought made her smile. He'd be one hell of a poker player; acting was so natural for him.

She'd been worried that she and the other directors of the show would end up arguing about casting him. She had to admit she was biased toward the boy and if the others didn't choose him…

But there had been no arguments. True, the boy was not a strong singer. Greg House's voice was not melodious; it bordered on gravelly and had only a limited range. But he was not by any means tone deaf, the piano was testament to that and besides, the voice actually suited the character the three directors had unanimously chosen for him perfectly. The whole of Greg House suited the character they'd chosen for him perfectly.

After all, type-casting is a perfectly acceptable and highly useful tool in high-school theater.

But Carrie Price's predicament had nothing to do with his unexpected application to his audition. It had nothing to do with her fellow directors. It had nothing to do with Greg's vocal abilities, or with remorse at stooping to blatant type casting.

Stepping back from the announcement board, Price gave a satisfactory nod at the cast list and then glanced around, searching.

Her predicament was that she couldn't figure out where to hide so she could see Mr. House's face when he saw the cast list.

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Gregory House looked disdainfully over at the pulsating mob of drama kids clamoring to see the cast list. He'd have to get through _that_ to see a damned list? He was tempted to say "to hell with my 4.0" and forget he was in drama class, let alone that he had auditioned for the school musical. He hadn't even told his mom this latter fact. After all, nothing would come of it – he didn't want to be in it and had made that clear.

But he had to admit he was curious. He was planning his approach to the front of the throng when a loud, self-righteous voice said "Who the hell is Greg House?" Greg didn't like that tone. Putting on his most arrogant voice he said "That'd be me." The effect was instantaneous. The crowd ceased its throbbing as everyone turned to look at him. It was kind of like Moses parting the red sea and for a second the cast list was visible in the part.

Eliza Doolittle………………..Gabrielle Clemons

Henry Higgins………………..Greg House

_Oh shit_, he thought for one brief, stunned second before his senses became occupied by an odd ball of energy that he recognized as the girl from his audition.

"Hey, congratulations! It's not everyday a newbie lands a lead! I don't think I introduced myself earlier: I'm Gabrielle, and I guess I'll be falling in love with you so you may as well call me Gabby. All my friends do." Then, with a bright smile she disappeared in a rush. Vaguely, he could register her jumping up and down with excitement hugging a small red-headed girl.

"Oh shit," he said again, out loud this time. _It has friends_, he thought, simultaneously.

_Oh yeah_, thought Price smugly as she saw the dazed, slightly horrified look on her "problem" student's face. From her vantage point through the glass walled attendance office, his expression was clear as day, as were the words he mouthed after being confronted by the energetic Gabby. _This was totally worth it. It's gonna be a very interesting year._

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Greg House sat at the piano at home, absentmindedly fingering the keys as he tried to sort out what the hell had happened. The lead? What had possessed them to give him the lead?! Trying to think about anything but the imminent arrival of his mother, at which point he'd have to explain this whole sorry mess, he thought back to his audition.

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He stood outside the large double doors which led to the theater – and the audition room. He'd immediately, upon receiving his ultimatum, signed up for the latest possible audition time. Since most of the acting fanatics had gone for the earliest slots, he was confident he could avoid most of the crazed throng. After all, seeing the hyperactive loonies for one hour every day was more than enough. His reasoning, as always, had been sound. There was only one girl standing nearby, practicing her lines by talking to a wall. With careful disdain, he stepped up to the theater announcement board that stood between the attendance office and the theater doors and picked up the monologue he was supposed to read for the audition. A quick scan revealed it to be the "To be or not to be" speech from _Hamlet_. Having already memorized it for his AP English Literature class a couple of years ago, he replaced it and settled for leaning insouciantly against the wall. The girl jabbering contentedly to the opposite wall finally stopped and meandered her way over to the board herself. She appeared utterly incapable of being still and shook with ill-repressed excitement. Greg watched her coolly. She was slim, of an average height, with dark brown hair and eyes and she seemed to be struggling with something. From what he'd observed of his own drama class, it was likely she was struggling to curb the impulse to start chatting with him, even though he was obviously uninterested in her, the show and life in general.

But, alas, her impulse won out.

"Hi, you must be Greg House as there aren't any other names on the audition list after mine. Last audition slot huh? Must be like me and like to make a good final impression. I was quite put out when I saw you'd taken the last last slot…but I guess it's ok as I'll still be the last girl." She beamed at him, seeming to study him for a second before launching herself back into her decidedly one-sided dialogue. "I think you had chemistry with my best friend last year. The class, not the feeling, though I recall she thought you were rather dishy and I can see what she meant. You do have ab-so-lutely gorgeous eyes." For once, Greg had no idea what to say. Who was this girl?! "In fact," she continued, either ignoring or oblivious to his incredulous stare, "I think she asked you to the Sadie Hawkins dance. You had to cancel at the last moment for a family emergency or some such thing, so nothing came of it. Then she started dating that Ian kid, which is silly because I'm pretty certain he prefers boys if you know what I mean. Oh well."

She blathered on for a while about her friend and her various boyfriends. He vaguely remembered the girl she was talking about well enough. Her name had been Sarah Hale, and she'd grabbed him after Chemistry one day and kissed him before asking him to Sadie last year. Shocked out of his mind, he'd automatically said yes, but his dad had made him go to a military dinner that night, and he'd had to cancel. They'd been in constant competition for the highest grade in the class all year and he'd thought the studious, rather serious girl had hated him. Learning that such a quiet, goal-oriented girl was best friends with this flighty actress was as shocking as the kiss had been. More pressing at the moment, however, was that the flighty actress seemed capable of talking for hours without breathing.

"I'm absolutely thrilled that the musical this year is "My Fair Lady!" I'm a Shaw fanatic. Eliza Doolittle has been my dream role since I-don't-know-when. I'd be totally thrilled to get the part, but really any part will do. What role are you gunning for? Call me crazy…" oh how he wanted to, "but you look like you'd be the perfect Higgins. I assume you can do a British accent. What song are you going to sing, by the way?"

_This_ got his attention.

"Sing?"

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Looking back to this fateful first meeting with his soon-to-be co-star, he supposed the least shocking revelation of the day was that her friends called her "Gabby."

"_I guess I'll be falling in love with you so you may as well call me Gabby."_

He shook his head. Directly after saying this she'd run off and hugged another guy, calling him her "good-for-nofink father." Crazy theater humor. And even if it hadn't been a mere reference to their roles…well…he supposed she was rather pretty, but she was also rather unhinged.

Slowly, he started playing a few notes and sang a few words.

"_Some others I've seen, might never be mean…"_

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After the girl had barreled out of the doors after her audition and whispered a theatrical "Break a Leg" to him before shoving him through, he'd made his way to the stage. Sitting in the back row of seats, to check his projection he'd assume, were the three directors. An elderly lady gave him such a wide grin his cheeks ached in sympathy. Beside her sat a slightly balding but amicable looking guy who wore a calm expression. Last but not least was his despised drama teacher, the woman who'd conned him into this mess, bushy brown hair spilling all over the place. Her face wore a narrowed expression, as if she expected him to do bad on purpose to get out of their contract and she was resigned to it. Greg clenched his teeth. He'd be damned if he'd act dumber than he was. He'd give her a proper audition, but he'd make it clear he was there against his will first.

"Hello, Mr. House," said the man in the middle. "What are you auditioning for today?"

"My 4.0," he answered in his snarkiest voice, "just ask Ms. Blackmail there."

The two directors glanced at their coworker, but she just brushed it off and said, "That's right, and I assume you're ready to read us the monologue?"

He shot her one defiant look before settling himself as arrogantly as possible in the dead center of the stage and launching into the delicate verse about the mystery of death. When he finished, he nodded curtly at the directors and then made to leave, hoping to avoid the final trial.

But Price, as he'd somehow known, was not going to let him off that easy.

"And if you'll just hand your sheet music to the accompanist, you can give us your song now."

He stopped and glared up at her with a cocky smile.

"Sorry, must have left my sheet music in my other pants."

She clicked her tongue. "Well unfortunately our accompanist here can't play without music, and all she has is the music for "I Could Have Danced All Night", so you'll just have to do your best on that."

His veins froze at the very idea.

"Fine," he said and marched over to the piano. "Scram," he said to the wide-eyed girl sitting there. After she'd hustled off as fast as she could, he sat down at the bench and with a curt nod at Ms. Price he started playing. _Thank god my voice is only passable, maybe I'll get out of this after all_, he thought as he sang a jazzy, low key version of "It Had to Be You" that he'd learned last month in his piano lessons.

When he'd finished, he delivered his "I don't want to be here" message once again by way of a rude hand gesture and had marched out the doors and out to where his brother, whom he'd told he was staying after for a detention, was waiting.

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The front door slammed, and he heard his mom's keys jingle as she pulled them from the lock. Too bad his mom had a fool-proof bullshit detector, the detention excuse had worked really well on Chris.

"Uh…Mom?"

**A/N: So, this is a rather snappy update for us, eh Jeeves? _Indubitably, sir._** **Yes, it does seem the old muse has been giving us a right kick in the p. lately eh? _Eloquent as always, sir. _Well, we Wooster's HAVE always been gifted when it came to the ol' vernacular, Jeeves. Stick with me and soon we'll be at the top of the best seller's list, wot wot? _Sir…the law clearly states that we can make no profit off of this as the rights, as such, belong to David Shore and his esteemed associates. _That we can't Jeeves, that we can't. Don't know how I could've forgotten. Me own grandmum is a advocate in copyright law. _Sir, I believe we have taken leave of the subject. _Oh, quite right. Well spotted, Jeeves. Read and review chaps and chapettes. _Thank you sir. _**


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